Wenluume staggered through the misty forest, swatting at invisible foes and mumbling spells. She had been foolish enough to think that the resistance she had to the Realm of Dreams when she was in her elemental form would carry through to her solid elf-like form.
"Nooo!,"she cried from somewhere in her mind that was moderately concious of the situation at hand. Her eyes were glazed and her eyelids felt like lead. She closed her cold blue orbs and fell face-first on the ground.
She was dreaming. Her harp had fallen from her belt and shattered like glass on the surface of a pool of blood. Someone relatively familiar laid in the crimson pool, clutching his sword. His eyes were dead, the light of life had left them leaving him looking ghastly. Against her will, she moved forward stepping over fallen...comrades? The word came strangely, and she realized what was going on in the situation. She had not entered a dream, but instead a vision.
Wenluume regained conciousness with a blood-curdling shriek. As soon as she was awake the cloud of confusion dulled her mind. She focused hard on getting to her feet, a thin line of blood on her eyebrow where her forehead had connected with a rock. She began to walk unsteadily, brow furrowed in absolute concentration. Her mind was exhausted from the effort, and she stopped to lean against a battered tree.